Restoration
by Pamala
Summary: Johnny has a vision of JJ as a grown man


NEW "RESTORATION" 1/1 J/JJ By Pamala RATED G  
FEEDBACK: TrustNtruth@aol.com  
RATING: G  
CHARACTERS: Johnny , JJ   
SPOILERS: Johnny gets a vision of his son 15 years in the future.  
ARCHIVING: Where ever ya like just e mail me first  
DISCLAIMER: Johnny and all things Dead Zone belong to Stephen King  
Piller2 .. USA etc.... No infringement intended  
  
AUTHORS NOTES: Okay I know this asks more questions than it   
answers but at this stage of development, character and relationship,  
I think there should be lots of questions and a vague future for   
Johnny Smith and his son.  
** Special thanks to Meg for her Beta/Edit work through years of X files  
fan fic right on through to Dead Zone Fic.  
NEW " RESTORATION " 1/1 J/JJ By Pamala RATED G  
"Wow! A '65?"  
  
"I don't know. Hard to tell. Might be the later 60's."  
  
"No, it is a 1965! I may have been out for six years but still I know my stuff."  
  
"Who do I think I'm kidding? I know my stuff only because I got lucky finding the model and year printed on the car's underside."   
  
"Maybe later, if I get really strapped for entertainment, I can debate Hot Wheels vs Matchbox a few hours."  
  
"Talking to myself.... Again!"  
  
This house is too big and far too empty with just me   
rattling around in it. It's no wonder I find myself endlessly pondering and analyzing any little tidbit that crosses my path.  
  
I'm all set to dive head long into how empty and pathetic my life has really become when something crosses my mind that is actually worthy of thought.  
  
The car, and my one man conversation, is suddenly not so sad when I realize what I really have in my hand is a toy belonging to *my* son. Something of his, left lying on the table in my living room as if he was a part of my home and a real part my life.  
  
Sure, there are many things I don't understand about my life, but I have gotten one important detail figured out very neatly.   
  
I am a father.  
  
As removed as I may be from his everyday life, the passing thought of my son is enough to fill me with enough warmth, pride, and hope to dull the pain and worry.  
  
I'm smiling for a change, relaxed, enjoying the moment and then I realize ... it's beginning to happen,   
I know what's coming...   
  
I've finally become somewhat accustomed to what precedes a vision.  
  
At that moment, I'm torn. A vision connected to my son might be a road best left untraveled. But my need to know him is also strong.  
  
I reject the urge to toss the object away, holding it tightly, preparing myself for what it will bring.  
  
///////////////////////////// //////////////////////////////////  
  
Well now, let's see what we have here.....   
  
My first impression is that these visions are usually   
a bit more action packed. Standing all alone on a   
deserted roadside is hardly the norm.  
  
I glance down realizing that, without effort or   
my knowledge, my thumb has stuck itself out.  
  
*Hmmm ... alone in the middle of nowhere hitch-hiking?!* Perhaps now my visions have found the means to poke fun   
at my empty life as well.  
  
Then, in the distance, I see a car approaching.   
Even at this distance I can see its resemblance   
to the toy car I found in the living room.  
  
What is usually a highly charged moment of recognition that connects vision to reality turns out, in this case, to be only a disappointment.   
This vision is of a car, not of my son.  
  
The car, a beauty incidentally, slows and stops in response to my extended thumb. Approaching the door I see, on the glass window, the reflection of the face I'm wearing this vision. It bears no resemblance to my own.   
  
The driver leans over, rolling down the window to speak and then I can see my face. I see myself, not in the reflection, but in the face the young man behind the wheel.  
  
"Hey, you need a ride?"  
  
I am astonished to see him!  
  
I spend far too much time taking it all in, his voice, his face, everything I can, so much so that I half expect him to speed away from the "staring weirdo" on the side of the road.  
  
Looking at my son, now a man, I can't prevent the ridiculous urge to behave as his father. I have no idea if I'll ever have another chance to be a father to him.  
  
"Didn't your father ever tell you not to pick up hitchhikers?"   
I play it light, humorously smiling with my words realizing that I probably sound even more like an ominous roadside freak.  
  
He laughs softly, pointing past me.   
"I think your story is pretty clear."  
  
I glance back and notice a sedan, as if it had just appeared. Hood up, fluid pooling beneath it with puffs of white steam wafting from the engine.  
  
"Get in. I'll run you into town so you can get  
a tow truck out here."   
  
I slide in the car enthralled by simply being near  
him and at the same time knowing it's best to stick   
to the character I'm set to portray.  
  
"Thanks for the ride."   
Pulling the heavy steel door shut, I look straight ahead, going out of my way not to look toward him for fear of staring.  
  
"No problem, it took me years to get this car in this condition. Believe me, I spent my fair share of time broken down on the side of the road.   
My name is John Smith."   
  
His outstretched hand freezes me.   
I know that *Hey, mine is John Smith too* won't do but the whole experience has knocked me off center.   
I hesitate, unable to think.  
  
"I'm Bruce."   
I shake his hand, wondering in the back of my mind if touching him might cause a vision within a vision. Nothing comes....nothing changes ... hand shake completed, our physical connection ends without event.  
  
"Bruce?"   
  
He looks over at me, a bit longer, puzzled, engine left idling, and even though I know there is no way he could identify me with my less than original choice of name, I can't help feeling that somehow he feels an inkling   
of who I really am.  
  
I watch him visibly shake off whatever he was feeling,   
put the car in gear and start away.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Bruce. Tough break with your car.   
Any clue what's wrong with it?"  
  
Sharing small talk with my son fifteen years in the future seems so odd that I'm at a loss for words. But a quick glance over at him and I know that what we say means little; just getting to be with him now is more than I could hope for.  
  
"No, no clue at all."   
I respond to the question at hand knowing that any exchange is preferable to letting an awkward silence set in until I'm dropped off at a local service station.   
*YES! Small talk will do just fine.*   
"Anything can go wrong with a cookie cutter piece of tin   
like that. Now this, THIS is a car!"  
  
He smiles and a knot tightens in my stomach. His face is different but still so much like my own. The smile on his face is one I knew on my own face long ago.  
  
"Thanks! I love this car. I restored it myself."  
  
He shifts on the hill and I notice the knob on the gear shift for the first time. A look to my side and realize that, like in so many of these visions, I do not have my cane.  
  
His hand now on the steering wheel, I reach over and touch the carved ball of silver atop the shifter.   
"This is a custom item? It's very unusual."  
  
He glances down at it and over to me and I again see a flicker of recognition I know cannot be. His eyes are confused, searching my face for something he just can't put his finger on.  
  
I often fool myself into thinking I know what these visions are and how they will go. But I don't.   
This young man, my son, having an idea of who I am could possibly be a facet of something I don't fully understand.  
  
Again, he shrugs off whatever is plaguing his mind when he looks at my face.   
  
"It's unique, alright. It was the top of my father's cane.   
I had it adapted to sorta keep him around since he bought   
the car and helped with the restoration."  
  
I can hardly sit still in my seat eager to hear of a relationship with my son. I desperately want to have this conversation. But it needs to be casual, to not stir whatever misgivings JJ has toward the stranger I am to him   
in this vision.  
  
"Sounds like you had a close relationship with your father." I feel relatively safe digging deeper since he brought me/his father into the conversation.  
  
"Eventually."  
  
I watch him hesitate in thought, his hand coming to rest on what was once my cane. He looks over at me and instead of being uneasy, he seems suddenly at ease.  
  
"I didn't know him for a long time.   
It's one of those epic *Who really is daddy?* stories."   
He laughs if off but I can see it's not easy now and   
was once very painful.  
  
What do I say?   
  
What can I say?  
  
I can hear so many people in my life, like a parade of voices in my head, all saying the same thing to me regarding the circumstances of my life after a six year coma.   
*Don't dwell on the past, Johnny.*  
  
This may be my future but the difficult process of JJ knowing and accepting that I am his biological father is this young man's past and best not dwelled upon.  
  
"Well, you must have worked it all out to have   
restored this car together."  
  
He looks away out his window and I only wish I knew what he might be thinking as he speaks.   
"Yeah, we did. I guess, in the end, that's what really matters, huh?"  
  
My son's eyes still turned away from me I again rest my hand against the cool silver of my cane feeling a lightening of my heart I never imagined possible.   
  
"Yes, as a father myself, I'd say that's what   
really matters."  
  
As we near the edge of town, we both slip easily back into the roles we took up on the roadside five or six miles back.  
  
"Listen, Bruce, the service station with towing is on the other end of town. I was on my way to my dad's house when I came across you so, if you don't mind, I'm gonna run by there for a sec first before I run you over to the station."  
  
I can't imagine what sort of look I must have on my face at the notion of running by my house 15 years in the future. From the look on JJ's face and his need to explain, it must be something!   
  
"It's only that my dad's getting kinda older now and he worries about me. I called him a couple miles before I came across you so if I don't show soon he's gonna get worried."  
  
Sure, the novelty of seeing myself in 15 years is a pretty strong draw but even I can figure out that's probably   
a very bad idea.  
  
"Nah, that's fine, John. Drop me right up here and   
I'll walk the rest of the way. It's a nice warm, fall day. Maybe you can take your dad for ride in this beautiful car you two worked so hard on before you have to   
put it away for the winter."  
  
A nod of agreement and he pulls to the curb.  
  
"Sounds like a great idea but, unfortunately,   
my father's not around anymore."  
  
My hand on the door, I stop. My mind reels screaming questions.  
  
*Not around anymore? Moved away? OR the big not around?!*  
  
I try to erase the shock on my face with casual inquiry.   
"I thought you called him before you ran into me?"  
  
"It was my dad that I called, not my father."  
  
He looks at me and I can't help feeling certain that   
somehow he CAN feel who I am.  
  
"Don't forget, Bruce, I'm one of those lucky guys who had both a dad and a father."   
  
There is so much more I want to know.   
Aside from the big question as to my not being around,   
I notice he hasn't spoken of his mother at all.   
*What's happened to me . . . to Sarah?*  
  
I open the door and leave my son's car knowing these questions are best left unanswered. Instead I make light,   
a little joke to maybe get one last glimpse of his smiling face.  
  
"Well, that should've have made college tuition easier, I suppose." He does smile at that.   
"Thanks for the help, John Smith."  
  
As I smile back, I memorize his face in as much detail as I can. It takes some effort to look casual as I savor the moment.   
  
///////////////////////////////////// //////////////////////////////////////////////  
  
Just like that, it's gone.  
  
I'm back in my big empty house, alone, holding a 99 cent piece of die cast metal in my hand.  
  
Often I come away from these events with a piece of a puzzle, something to be changed or redirected.  
  
What do I do now when I've seen an outcome   
I wouldn't want to change?  
  
I don't know. Maybe I'm not supposed to?  
  
Like always, maybe more so than ever before, I'm drained physically. My body exhausted and my mind unable to make sense of it all, I can think of nothing to do other that   
rest myself on the sofa and wait, hoping for a bolt of enlightenment.  
  
My palm strained and sweaty against the tiny metal   
Mustang in my hand, it takes me a good long time to   
find the will to let it go and set it down on the table.  
  
On the table, wheels against the smooth glass top, it rolls away. It is finally stopped by the cordless telephone left lying there.   
It is the click of the metal car against the plastic handset that is my bolt.  
  
*Maybe this time my role is not to stop, but to make what I've seen happen.*  
  
There is no fear, nerves, or confusion as I dial and wait   
out the rings on the other end.  
  
*I will do what really matters.*  
  
"Sarah? It's Johnny..........."  
The End ?  
Hope you enjoyed :o)  
Pamala  
  
My Dead Zone fic page  



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